Starting Backwards
by BinkumAndJo
Summary: WS. Warrick and Sara do something pretty stupid that could ruin their friendship. However, the most beautiful flowers grow after forest fires. Sometimes faith in another is all you need. (SOFT R. Because I'm chicken)
1. Hangovers & Analysis

**This is one WIP I intend on finishing. In fact, I've got most of the next two chapters written hard-copy, just have to type them. This is a W/S story. Is overrated now, but many have suggested I make it "steam-ay" AKA, R-Rated. Probably won't go there, but if it does, I'll change the rating. (Duh)**

**Set in an AU where the team isn't broken up, but post-"Snakes", if that makes any sense whatsoever.**

**I own nothing, blah blah blah  
(GG; Wonder what we sound like to them?  
GS; Probably... blah blah blah  
GG; Have any particular "blah blah blah" for me?**

Warrick awoke to an unfamiliar sensation. Sleep clogging his vision, he blinked at his ceiling and attempted to raise a hand to rub his face. However, his arm was pinned by something very warm and very human. He woke fully and suddenly at the realization that his limbs were otherwise employed. Feeling rushed from his fingertips to his toes, alerting his body that there was another wrapped around it. Glancing downwards to his sleeping companion, Warrick's oval eyes widened, his groggy brain protesting the illogical information that was flooding it.

Warrick swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. The roughness in the back of his throat confirmed his suspicions that he had not been quiet last night, just as the dull ache in his head told of a fair amount of alcohol. The left side of his brain analyzed the situation, while the right side was well on its way to crazy town. One well-defined arm was latched possessively around a flared hip, while the other snaked around a smooth back; keeping the two bodies dangerously close. One of her legs was tucked between his, the long appendage wrapped around his, her own gesture of possession.

Her chestnut hair fell around her face, unusually tousled. Warrick could feel her warm breath across his bare chest, which she had jerry-rigged as a pillow. Instinctively, his eyes traveled down her elongated neck, down her freckled back, but the dark blue cotton sheet kept the scene PG-13. Stormy sea-green eyes snapped upwards to assess the destruction of his living quarters. 'Shit.' He thought immediately, his vocabulary failing him. Warrick, though he wasn't as compulsively neat as most CSIs, know for a fact that before last night the lamp on his bedside table had not been upended, and the papers on his desk were in neat, orderly piles.

An uncharacteristically smug smile invited itself onto Warrick's visage as he remembered exactly what action caused the papers' current state of disarray. However, the distinctly self-satisfied expression faded as he looked down onto the female in her arms. Hell, there was no denying he loved her, but an alcohol-induced frenzy was not what he imagined as the culmination of four years of intense emotions and thought. Allowing himself a brief reprieve from reality, Warrick recalled the wide array of said emotions. There had been near-hatred, to sympathy, to frustration, to empathy, to love, which surfaced, apparently, last night, along with the animalistic lust he harbored in his soul.

Stirred from his reverie by a hand stretching slowly across his stomach, Warrick's line of vision shot down, his heart clenching in trepidation. With a sigh, brown eyes opened. Warrick quickly donned a blank face, glad for the first time of his gambling prowess, as he watched her bright but alcohol-laced eyes comb upwards. The look of computation was recognizable in her expressions. Glad that she wore her feelings on her sleeve when drowsy, he recognized confusion, realization, and nervousness. By the time their eyes met, her face matched his.

"Hi," he said automatically, his voice only slightly more husky and passionate than usual. "Hi," she echoed, the simple sound of her rest-roughed voice stirring something inside him that told him to capture her lips in a kiss and ravish her relentlessly. His voice started and stopped, deep in his chest. He wanted to say, to confess, so many things. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked, how long he had wanted her. He wanted to ask how she felt about him, what she was thinking. Most of all, he wanted to know if, God forbid, she regretted what they had done.

Despite his brave attempts, his inquires died before they reached his throat. She sensed his predicament and raised a slender hand to touch his lips, hushing him and caressing him simultaneously. "I'm glad," she declared in a whisper, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards demurely.

**Ch. 2 will be up as soon as I can type it, but I think I'm getting carpal tunnel. I deserve it, typing on my labtop while in bed. Ha.**

**To Amy, who wanted a hot ficcy, as well as sassytoo and grrlnorth, who have kick-ass W/S fics. Read them.**

**Reveiws make my day! They should have their own section in the food pyramid!**


	2. Ethics & Alcohol

**This one goes to Kelly, who reveiwed both of my latest fics, forensicsfan, who is Queen of the snickers story, and all the other fantabulous readers and writers of fanfiction.**

**I own nothing, ect ect**

Las Vegas was the one place in the entire country where you could get off work at 6 A.M. and still find nightlife. Warrick Brown grinned ruefully as he leaned again the bar of the dance club. 'Zebra,' the aforementioned club, was where Catherine had towed them all in celebration of Greg's birthday. Though most of the club-goers were slightly younger than the nocturnal team of scientists, it had been a good choice.

The establishment boasted excellent music, mature, fun-loving patrons, and an open bar, as introvert Sara Sidle had discovered. Sara was the true reason Warrick had excused himself from the dance floor. The rest of the team, sans Gil Grissom, who had turned down the invite, was having fun, enjoying rare human contact.

"I'll have whatever's on tap," he informed the bartender, accepting his third beer readily. "So," he began, only to be cut off.

"Y'know, I have a life," Sara said to the space between Warrick and her shot glass. "I have relationships," the word pronounced like "shlipps," refuting Warrick's suspicions that she was completely plastered. "Everyone thinks I go to work, pull triple overtime, go home, and drink my way through a liquor store, but screw everyone. They told me to get a life. I have a life." He only nodded, arching his eyebrow lightly as he examined his empty glass. Even in his relatively buzzed state, he recognized that 'everyone' meant Grissom.

"Of course, how can I have a life when I'm such a 'workaholic?' Oh, hell," the brunette sighed in an exasperated tone. "I have no life. I'll admit it." Warrick milled this over momentarily, and then opened his mouth to retort.

"Not now Warrick. I'm wallowing in self-pity." At this, Warrick felt half of his face slide into an easy grin. Though Sara had ingested more alcohol than a stadium full of Red Sox fans, her vocabulary was fully enabled. "In fact, I haven't had sex in ages. When was the last time you jumped in the sack? You're the ladies man in this conversation." He shrugged, distinctly uncomfortable with where this line of questioning was going. "Uh, two months? Maybe?"

Sara responded by laughing heartily, her head thrown back as if Warrick had just been struck my comedic muse. Fighting to control her giggles, she leaned forwards toward him. Gesturing him forwards by crooking her finger, she lowered her voice to what counted as a conspiring whisper in a deafening club.

"Don't tell anyone, but it's been over a year and a half for me." Pulling away, she nodded towards him before seizing her refilled glass. "Cheers," she muttered in an unenthusiastic voice before downing the amber liquid and coughing as it singed her throat.

Warrick shifted uneasily, the non-inebriated fraction of his brain telling him to call her a cab and see her home. Meanwhile, the much more significant part was all in favor of the cab idea, only with a much different destination. However, before an epic internal war broke out, Sara grabbed his large hand, which had been resting on the bar. "C'mon, let's dance!" Well, there went that dilemma.

Joining the group of post-college aged partiers, Warrick and Sara danced up a storm, alcohol not wreaking havoc on their motor skills as of yet, only their inhibitions. Warrick soon found Sara's arms slung over his shoulders, and his wrapped tightly around her waist.

He looked deep into her dark eyes, and, surprisingly, did not find the drunken euphoria he expected. Instead, he noted the same risk-takers determination he saw every day, along with an emotion he itched to label lust. He felt his temperature raise and his eyes narrow as he realized it was aimed at him.

The music changed, from a hip-hop dance mix to a taboo, hair-raising song dedicated to casual sex. After the chorus of the first verse, Sara allowed one of her hands to fall to Warrick's chest, clutching a handful of his shirt. Using the blackberry linen of the button-up shirt as leverage, she pulled him to her. Pushing her lips to his, she kissed him urgently.

He responded promptly, thrusting his tongue deep into her welcoming mouth. Retreating an inch for air, he leaned his forehead against hers. "Sara…" he whispered, the sound not as resolute as he wanted it to be. The miniscule, still-functioning sliver of Warrick's brain was screaming with what-ifs. However, the feel of her heaving chest against his, her hand still above his racing heart, and the sight of her fiery eyes and swollen lips sent all protest out the window.

His lips swooped down to conquer hers again, with an aggressiveness to which Sara quickly became accustomed. Warrick's hands slid down her hips to rest at her thighs. Almost lifting her up off the ground, they shared a moan as their bodies strove for union. She tasted like hard alcohol, the tomato and vinegar salad she had for lunch, and something uniquely her.

He growled low in his throat, expressing his satisfaction at finally owning her mouth with his, and his desire to experience more. Before the song reached it's final innuendo-filled lyric, Sara asked of Warrick in a husky tone, "Your place or mine?"

**To any Red Sox fans I may have offended; While I understand that not all Sox fans have drunk and disorderly charges, I've _been_ in a stadium full of Red Sox fans. It's quite dangerous, especially when it's a Sox vs Angels and you're from Cali. **

**Next Chapter; May feature some "hands-on" action, or be relatively clean. It'll depend on how steamy my sex scene gets. Oh, you knew it was coming.**

**Reveiws make me post faster. They do. I was gonna wait three days to post this chapter, but Kelly's nice reveiw got me off my butt and typing.

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	3. Less Thinking & More Romance

**I'm ashamed. I haven't updated in AGES, I know, I'm SORRY. This was my first try at "smutiness," so I kept procrastinating. If it's really bad, tell me. Really. I need to know. **

Warrick fumbled for his wallet as he straddled Sara's hips on the seat of the cab. Tossing a twenty the cabby's way, he mumbled through an intense kiss, "Keep the change." Tumbling out of the car, Warrick led Sara backwards towards the door of his house. Impatient with the fact that his key wasn't cooperating, he growled in annoyance.

However, all frustration was forgotten when Sara responded eagerly, fixing her hands around his neck, lacing her fingers in his hair. Key momentarily forgotten, he grabbed her hips roughly and pushed her against the door.

Not missing a beat, Sara wrapped her legs around his waist as he finally unlocked his door. "Warrick," Sara moaned breathlessly. He froze, a white-hot stream of anxiousness shooting through him. His feelings for the woman in her arms ran too deep for him to rush her into anything. "I want you." She finished, heavily-lidded brown eyes spelling it out for him if her words hadn't. He attacked her neck as his door swung open, biting on supple flesh, taking pleasure in gauging her reactions by her gasps and moans.

Pushing her into his home, Warrick's long stride brought the pair against a wall. As his powerful body molded to her, pinning Sara against said wall, she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Her fingers explored the expanse of skin she had already uncovered. The determination not to cause harm to Warrick's shirt was abandoned as he practically ripped her top off her body, hands eagerly pioneering the skin they had uncovered. Tugging the two halves of the dark shirt apart, Sara grinned lustily when she was rewarded with five violent pops, then the clatter of plastic buttons on Warrick's hardwood floor.

Sara had never felt a touch so scorching as the brush of Warrick's lips across her collarbone, gently exploring the crevice between her breasts created by her bra. She moaned quietly, and then the annoying piece of cotton and lace was gone.

Warrick's hot, demanding hands slid up her body to palm her breasts, eliciting a throaty whimper. He responded by biting into pliant flesh, just below Sara's ear, hard. Hard enough to shoot waves of feeling through her body, ending between her legs, but soft enough to be loving. She gasped, and bucked her hips against his, her hands fumbling with his belt buckle. He unconsciously kneaded her flushed breasts when he felt her fingers brush his erection as she pulled down both his trousers and boxer shorts.

Warrick quickly dropped a hand down to her hips, the other pressing her body to his for support. Pinching the delicate zipper on the back of Sara's skirt, he yanked it downwards. When it protested, he grunted in agitation, and regretfully breaking their kiss, he simply mimicked her actions with his shirt, tearing the fabric vertically, excruciatingly slowly.

He glanced briefly at the irreparable piece of clothing, then was distracted by Sara's lips on his chest. "Forget about it," she mumbled as she passionately hissed and sucked his nipples. "You're overdressed," he observed, teeth clenched because of Sara's actions. He whispered the words onto smooth skin, indicating her black lace panties.

"How 'bout we change that," he suggested wryly, as he hooked his thumbs into their waistline. His naked body responded well to the encouraging grind of her hips against his as her underwear fell to the floor. Her hands roved urgently down his body, halting at his hips. Thumbs pressing on the edges of his pelvic bone, Sara moaned as her panties joined the rest of her clothes on the floor. "Sara…" Warrick groaned out haltingly as he lifted her again, and strode into his bedroom, blinded by a cloud of alcohol, lust and surreality.

That was the last thing that was said, until Warrick brought Sara to her first spinning climax. Nonetheless, the conversation was still a mix of gasped names, heavy pants and mumbled declarations. Finally, they came together, the final euphoric event. They both yelled loudly, fireworks exploding before their eyes.

Warrick collapsed on top of Sara, unaware that she was relishing the feeling of his heavy, powerful frame engulfing her, almost crushing her. As he rolled aside, she lay breathy, tired kisses across his collarbone, while his hand tripped lazily across her back, misted with sweat from the intense lovemaking they had shared.

Both pairs of eyes unconsciously fought to stay open, the old adage, "The sooner you go to sleep, the sooner morning will come," rearing it's ugly head. Despite the adamant resistance to meeting morning and what it brought, flinty green and warm brown eyes closed simultaneously, their owners given over to the deep, dreamless sleep of an exhausted prisoner or fated lovers.

**So, what'd you think? I was rushed to type it 'cause I wanted it up as soon as I finished it hard-copy. So I have like 15 minutes to take a shower and do 3 days of homework. Aw, crap. Leave a message after the fic! BEEP**


	4. Thought & Action Two Very Different Thin...

**Oooooohhhhh... TWO updates in ONE day! You love me, right?**

**In this one, I got to use the word "apex" it's such a great word! **

**Still own nothing. This chapter's for (deep breath); Meg, Amy, Katie, Erin, Suzie, Elyshia, Sarah, Aoife, Kaija, Roshni, Mattie, Veronica, Allie, Heather, Sean, Shane, Danielle, Deb, Libby, Elaine, Chris 1, Chris 2, Brandon, Allison, Tracey,Taylorand a bunch of other people.**

How's this for irony? Alcohol is a vice, a crutch that provides no support. But at that moment, both Sara and Warrick wished for more. Long ago, Warrick had noticed that no matter how clear your thinking seems at night, the morning sun uncovers the flaws in all the reasonings you've unearthed under the cover of darkness.

His plan for wooing Sara originally entailed a grandiose scheme, flower petals in her locker, secret admirer notes, and at last, a lyrical attempt to capture her heart. But now, months of consideration for naught, Warrick was at a fork. Though Sara lay in his arms, a surreal fact at best, he couldn't help but wonder if he had her heart.

The idea of elaborate, romantic gestures came about upon realizing Sara's mistrust for all. His logical mind produced the theory that Sara fell in love foremost with her head, rather than her soul. Therefore, he must dedicate the time and energy that was so worth winning her, so she would be sure of his feelings. 'Warrick Brown, you stupid ass,' his brain pointed out the obvious, 'Romantic a drunken romp is not.'

Despite his subconscious' obvious discomfort, Warrick found solace in Sara's words. Her frame of reference unmistakable, Warrick couldn't resist questioning exactly how much weight her words carried. Ideally, they meant that she, too, saw him as more than a friend. However, he had always been more of a realist than an eternal optimist, and a night that could make or break his relationship with his dream girl wasn't going to change that.

Yanked abruptly from a bittersweet reverie by the shifting of mass, he looked downward, expecting to see Sara hightailing it in an emotion he had dubbed, "Post One Night Stand Reality." Rather, he saw brown eyes filled with hurt. A sense of self-depreciation sunk in rapidly when he realized that he became the source of that hurt when he failed to reply.

Sara sat up, blue sheet languidly slipping off her form as she turned away from Warrick to leave. Warrick's fingers instinctively reached out to wrap firmly but gently around her wrist. "Wait." Warrick's voice started commanding and authorative. "Stay," he said simply, a traitorous note of pleading forcing it's way into an otherwise steady, velvet voice.

"Why?" A small and feminine, yet strong voice asked a fair question. Warrick sensed astutely that she was taking more than staying in his bed under consideration. In a way, it almost felt like she was asking him every question ever asked, in that universally called upon "why."

"Because you make my sun set and my moon rise," is what he would have said if he were poetic. "Because I've loved you since I laid eyes on you," the choice and untrue response for a man who believed in destiny. "Because you complete me," also known as the sappy Jerry Maguire reply.

But what was Warrick to say? She alone possessed the power to light up a room for him, to say nothing of his heart. "Because I love you." Warrick handed over the words as if they were a deed to his soul, which, in a way, they were. He gave them both to Sara gladly.

Her eyes burned, salty tears threatening to spill over. She slid back into Warrick's bed, where he gently kissed away one that had escaped. For a man whose belief in humankind itself had been questioned, the thought that flitted through his brain was an uncharacteristic one. For as Sara's happy tears subsided, and Warrick pulled her slim form to his once again, they both knew that, maybe for the first time in both their lives, they were right where they were supposed to be.

Sara awoke a few hours later, roused by the insistent buzzing of Warrick's phone on his hall floor. Though the sound was something akin to the spilling of dry cereal into a bowl, she had always been a light sleeper. Instantly aware that she and Warrick were due at work in three or four hours, she harshly pushed the thought of more sleep away.

She stretched her toes out a little, relishing Warrick's warm body, soft blankets and his hot breath on her head. She smiled a little, trying and failing to remember the last time waking up next to someone had felt so satisfying. Snuggling gratefully into his protective arms, she recalled his earlier words. Sara laid a few discrete kisses along the apex of his breastbone, and then halted. She looked up at his face, hers softening slowly. Warrick always maintained his world-wise, all-knowing, soul-searing expression even when he was a million miles away.

Sara was slightly missed at her own thoughtlessness. Here she had heard the words she had dreamed of, uttered by the same person featured in her fantasies. The wonder if wishful thinking had finally crossed the line separating reality and otherwise flitted into, and out of, her head. So, because she was so obviously there, with Warrick, in a long awaited but never expected situation, the least Sara could have done was reply when he confessed his love for her.

Acting upon that thought, Sara snaked a hand up his chest and shook his shoulder. Bent on waking him, she hadn't notice his breathing had subtly changed from deep and slow to a contained rhythm. "Warrick…" Sara frowned slightly. "Warrick, c'mon, please wake up." A sly smile snuck onto his face, "If you call me baby I'll wake up." He'd been kidding, but he wasn't about to argue when she complied, voice pitched low and sexy, music to Warrick's tone-aware ears.

Sara rolled her eyes good-naturedly at Warrick's request, but what the hell. Means to an end, right? "Warrick, baby, open your eyes." She purred the words gently, s if he was still asleep. Her hand left his muscled shoulder and settled on his face. Her fingertips cautiously, admiringly caressed his strong jaw line. "I want you to know, I love you, too." She slipped a slender, pale leg between his long, coffee-colored ones, a combination of her actions and words making his eyes snap open.

She grinned as she won that test of wills. Sara 1, Warrick 0. However, the fictional scorecard disappeared as his hands found her hips under his covers. "I know." His already mesmerizing eyes took on a fascinating glint as he pulled her into a searing kiss that should have made the windows of his bedroom fog up. Just before she protested for the sake of their jobs, the sense of being surrounded by Warrick made reason vanish with a "pop" to wherever the scorecard had gone.

This was definitely different for both. But, as a philosopher once said, "Tomorrow is the promise of change." And it was a brand-new day.

**Ok, yeah, the ending was VERY corny, I know. Now, I'm not sure where I'm going after this. You guys want some work interaction? Some more "hot-n-spicy," their first fight (I make no promises)? Should this be the end? Please, take the time to reveiw if you have any opinion whatsoever on this fic. It's needed.**


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